


if i were you, i wouldn't love me neither

by Anonymous



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angry Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, For Chara and Frisk, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Mercy Route, Nonbinary Chara (Undertale), Nonbinary Frisk (Undertale), Other, Post-Undertale Soulless Pacifist Route, Queerplatonic Relationships, Rape/Non-con Elements, coping fic, messed up relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-10-28 01:16:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17777810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A series of one shots in a universe where Chara and Sans discover they have...something together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song "Despicable" by Grandson.

"sup freak," Sans says, slouching into the living room, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his ratty blue jacket. You look up from your game, an automatic scowl crossing your face.

"What do you want, trashbag?" You ask. 

"is the kid around?" He asks. You scoff, settling into the couch and propping your sneakers on the coffee table.

"Like I'd tell you," you say. "But if it means you'll go away faster, no, they're visiting Muffet's shop." Your nose crinkles at the thought of Muffet. It's not that you don't like her. You do. It's just that now that you're not a ghost anymore, her spiders freak you out. You've never liked spiders and you aren't about to start now.

"ah," the skeleton says, agreeably enough. He plops down in the recliner and you scowl harder.

"Shouldn't you go?" You ask in a pointed voice. He shrugs.

"might as well wait," he says. "ain't got anywhere else to be."

"Sure you do," you sneer. "Muffet's tea shop."

"nah," Sans says, with another shrug. "take too long."

"Are you  _always_ so fucking lazy?" You ask, pausing your game. Mario can wait.

"you know it," Sans grins and finger guns at you. You roll your eyes.

"Well, if you're going to stay here," you begin, knowing you're tempting fate, but you just can't help yourself. "Maybe I'll head out. I'm sure there's  _plenty_ of places I can go. Like oh, say, Papyrus's place?"

Sans's eye flashes brilliant blue and you find yourself hanging in mid-air, your game sitting on the couch.

"i don't think so," he says. "unless you really wanna have a bad time."

"Yeah?" You ask, reckless, your heart thumping a million miles a minute. Your breathing is very loud. "Maybe I want to."

"not here," Sans says. "tori doesn't need her carpet messed up."

Before you can stop him- before you can think- he's there, grabbing your arm, and blackness envelops you.

When you open your eyes again, you're in his bedroom.

"Kinky," you say in faux admiration, watching blue rise up his cheekbones. "Is that what you wanted, Sansy? Shit, you should have told me. I might have shaved my legs."

"fuck off," he says in a near growl. His magic flings you at the wall, stopping short of actually slamming you into it. "you're the same old freak, aren'tcha. why frisk pulled ya outta there, i'll never know."

"That's because you don't know  _shit_ about me, trashbag," you hiss. "You don't and you never will. But hey, I can't be the same old freak, now can I? After all, your brother is still alive."

You don't know why you keep pushing that particular button. Sans's eye flashes again, cycling between blue and yellow in a nauseating swirl, and he slams you to his bed, breathing heavy.

"you know what," he says slowly, in a considering kind of tone. "maybe this  _should_ be what i wanted."

"What, so now you're attracted to me?" You ask skeptically. "Pull the other one, it's got bells on. Attracted to  _Frisky_ maybe..."

Sans shudders.

"not the kid," he says.

"They're eighteen," you say patiently. "I'm twenty-one. Not  _that_ much of a difference."

"they're a kid and in my eyes, they're gonna stay that way," Sans says, and you can tell there's no budging him. And he doesn't find it very funny.  _Probably_ not worth pursuing then.

"So you don't see me as a kid then?" You ask, plucking at the sleeve of your striped sweater. You don't wear them all that often anymore, but you haven't done laundry in a while.

"nah, you're just a freak," Sans tells you, but he looks a little...

You don't know, and  _that_ piques your interest.

"Come on, Sansy, you can tell your freaky little brother-killer," you say in a sing-song tone, watching his other eye socket turn into void. He's suddenly there, on the bed with you, phalanges resting lightly against your throat.

"i can squeeze," he says softly. "you know i can."

"Do it then," you manage to gasp out. He does, for one brief, heart-stopping moment, before flinging you back against the pillows.

You don't know why you do what you do next. You hate him. He's an asshole and you wish you could grind him back into dust. You try to be good for Frisk because that's what they think you're capable of, but it's so damn  _hard_ when it comes to that fucking comedian.

You spread your legs in clear, wanton invitation.

"If you're gonna do that, don't be a coward, do something else," you taunt. Sans's pinpoint pupils re-appear. You think you've shocked him. You didn't know that was possible.

Then his eye re-ignites and suddenly, you're not so sure that you want to do this anymore.

There's no way you're backing down after this, though. Not after the gauntlet you threw down. It's your own damn fault for acting before you think, and shit, maybe the skeleton is actually okay at boning.

You blink and he's ripped all your clothes off (save for your binder, which surprises you), leaving them strewn all around the room. He pulls down his own shorts and you can see a long, thick cock formed out of magic and pulsing brilliant blue. He palms it with one hand, eyeing you. He looks nearly feral.

"Well?" You ask, injecting as much bravado as you can into your voice. "Can you actually use it or are you all talk?"

For answer, Sans uses his magic to spread you across the bed, your arms against the headboard and legs splayed wide in invitation. He shuffles into position and you feel the hot, broad head of his cock probing your entrance. Magic fizzles across your skin, tingling like pop rocks against your tongue. When you don't say anything, he takes that as encouragement to go further, steadily feeding himself into your cunt, stretching you out and filling every inch of you. Your eyes roll back in your head as he begins to thrust, his own magic serving as lubrication along with your own embarrassingly strong slickness. You hate that you've grown so damn wet for him. 

"well, you got one thing going for ya," Sans hisses in your ear, his voice strained. "ya might be a freak, but your pussy fits me like a  _glove_. how bout that."

"Fuck off," you sneer, your hips automatically twitching up against him, seeking more friction. Your face reddens and you know he can feel it. How he manages to convey a smirk, you will never know.

"nah," he says easily. His phalanges dig into your hips, pulling you into the steady movement of his cock. You choke back a whimper, your face flooding with more color as you heard the lewd squelching sounds fill the room. "i think i'd rather fuck  _you_."

One phalange fumbles to find your clit and it feels like you've been electrified. A few quick, rough strokes and you arch up against him, keening as your vision whites out and pleasure short-circuits your muscles. When you come back to yourself, Sans is still fucking you, nearly to over-stimulation, with short, sloppy thrusts until he stiffens and you feel your insides grow hot and wet and tingly. He slumps against you, breathing hard, then rolls to the side, his cock evaporating into thin air.

A moment later, your magic restraints disappear and you pull into yourself, watching him with wide eyes. You don't know how to feel about what just happened. You hate him- but he just fucked you to a really  _stunning_ orgasm- but you know how his dust feels on your hands- 

"i'll take ya home," Sans says, breaking the silence. He piles your clothes up on the bed and you get dressed. 

"That...happened, right?" You ask. You feel stupid, but it's all you can think to blurt out. Sans looks down, taking your arm, then nods. Just before the room blacks out and the shortcut takes hold, you hear him.

"yeah, yeah it did." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self harm warning.

You fall back on your bed, a heavy sigh escaping your lips. It's been nearly a week since your little...whatever you want to call it with Sans. At night, sometimes all you can think about is him straining above you, phalanges scrambling for purchase in the soft meat of your hips, as he slams himself deeper into you. It makes you want to scream, and not in a good way.

At least in public, everything's gone back to normal, if you can call it that. To your eternal relief, Sans acts like nothing's changed and your repartee falls back into the same old snarky bullshit. Hey, maybe to him, nothing  _has_ changed. After all, once a demon, always a demon, and you're happy to play the part. He'll never understand what you've gone through and to be honest, you don't want him to. He's an asshole, and that's all there is to it.

You sigh again, scrubbing a hand through your choppy fringe. Frisk trimmed it the other day and it's still a little uneven. You don't really mind. It's like that little Frisk touch, and that makes everything better.

Of course, Frisk's ambassador duties have grown heavier and heavier this month, and that's taken them away more and more. You don't do well on your own. Mom knows it and Frisk knows it and Ree  _definitely_ knows it. But Ree doesn't know what's going on because he's on a trip with Dad, and Mom's busy with her teaching responsibilities, as well as running the monster/human hybrid school, and it's a lot of work, and you don't want to bother her with your stupid problems. After all, you're not a little kid anymore. You're an adult and you should solve your own problems.

Your hand slips under your pillow almost like it doesn't belong to you anymore. Maybe your solution isn't what it's supposed to be, but hey, if it calms you down, that's good, right? You're used to it. The nervous energy running through your bones makes you want to split apart into a million pieces, makes you want to shred yourself like pulled pork. You've tried before. Frisk stopped you. It scared them.

But Frisk's not here right now. And the knife under your pillow sings to you in a language only you can understand.

You pull it free from its customary hiding place, admiring the keen sharpness of the edge, the silvery stillness of the blade. You always make sure to clean it up after every little session, even if it takes you a while to come out of your stupor. You don't want the damn thing to rust, after all.

Yanking up your sleeve takes but a moment. You take a deep breath, willing your hand to stop shaking. You don't want to cut deeper than you mean to. That means a trip to the hospital or admitting to Toriel that you fucked up. She always looks so damn sad when she sees you, empty-eyed and bloody, and you hate yourself that much more for it.

The knife draws a sizzling red line of pain across your forearm. You stare at the fat droplets of blood that begin to well up, fascinated. Your hand moves again, robotic, adding another handful of red lines, smearing into each other over old white scars. You pant for breath, feeling lightheaded. It's not enough. You didn't think it would be.

You slap a handful of Kleenex across your wounds, hoping to save the inside of your sweater as you roll it down, holding your makeshift bandage in place. You turn to your legs, pulling up the hem of your shorts. Thin white lines crisscross your skin, and your mouth nearly waters in anticipation of adding to the collection. Of making you  _feel_ some-fucking-thing. Of fixing the howlingly empty loneliness that sits, cold and dark, deep in the pit of your stomach. You want Frisk, and you can't have Frisk, not now, and tears prick your eyes.

You don't hear the door open. All you know is something clenching around your upper arm, churning blackness, and the messy darkness of Sans's bedroom before you're slammed into his wall so hard, your ribs ache and you nearly drop your knife.

"Hey, what the  _fuck_ -" You begin indignantly, adrenaline flooding your body. Sans is stiff, his shoulders set in what looks like fury, and his eye blazing mind-numbingly blue.

"i can't trust ya at all, can i," he says, his voice so low, it's nearly unrecognizable. "thought maybe you and i had come to an understanding. but then i walk in, looking for tori, and ya have  _that_ out." He nods to the knife, still loosely clasped in one hand. Your arm burns, cuts raw against the Kleenex.

"Okay, first of all, maybe if you stopped  _breaking and entering_ , it wouldn't be a problem," you start, voice brittle.

"you have  _that fucking knife_ , i don't  _give_ a fuck about breaking and entering," Sans interrupts you, nearly growling the words. "who were ya gonna dust, huh? did this get too boring for you? too shitty to have some kind of happy ending? is that it?"

"Oh, fuck you," you say. "I'm so sick of- You know what?" You fight with the magic holding you, finally managing to roll up your sleeve. The Kleenex comes with it, revealing the cluster of bleeding lines slashed across your skin. "If I would dust anyone, it'd be  _myself_ , you fucking asshole. I was hurting  _myself_."

You thump to the ground as his eye winks out, both eyes blown out void in shock. Your knife clatters to the floor next to you.

"I don't have a happy ending, okay?" You say. It feels almost freeing to say it. "I'll never have a happy ending. I blew that the instant I decided eating buttercups made for a good plan. I don't give a shit if you have a happy ending. You go do that. Just leave me  _alone_."

"i-" Sans stops. He still looks like you've shocked him to the core. You didn't know that was possible. "what do you mean, eating buttercups?" He asks. You laugh. It's not a happy sound.

"Oh, didn't you hear, Sansy? Guess Mom doesn't fill you in on shit. I'm the first kid that fell down. Chara Dreemurr. Hope of monsters." You laugh again, and it's so bitter, you nearly choke from it. "I wanted to save the underground. I ate buttercups to commit suicide, so I could give my soul to Asriel. Shitty way to go, by the way. I don't recommend it, unless you  _like_ blisters down your esophagus and pissing blood at inopportune times. Anyway, I presume you know how  _that_ went. I died. Asriel died. Because humans are shitty and awful and believe me, I include myself in that, and it all went fucked. Until Frisk. I don't know how they woke me up, but they did, and they're the best thing that's ever happened to me except the Dreemurrs. Of course, I fucked that up, too, since Mom and Dad split up." You sigh, exhaustion suddenly draping you like a blanket.

"do you-" Sans pauses. At least his pupils have come back. That's a good sign, you think. "do you hurt yourself a lot?"

"Favorite pastime," you say. "So what do you think?" You try to stand up and your head spins. You look down, and your arm is smeared bright red. Well, that's probably bad.

"you should sit down," Sans says. "you look  _dead_ pale."

"Was that a pun?" You ask, incredulous. "Seriously? I'm going home. Even if I have to walk." You take a step and your knees buckle, your vision blacking out for a second. When you muzzily come to, you expect to be face-first on the floor.

Instead, Sans is holding you, his expression more serious than you've ever seen it.

"Hurt me," you whisper. "Come on, Sansy.  _Comedian._ Hurt me. Freaky little brother killer. You know you want to." 

He settles you in the center of his bed, a towel wrapped around your bleeding arm.

"no," he says. "i don't. be right back, i'm getting the first aid kit."

_What?_ You stare in shock at the empty space Sans just vacated. You don't understand. You kind of hoped he'd feel like a dick after you blurted out your little sob story, but that's  _all_ you expected. This is...weird. You don't like it. You don't trust it.

It's  _Sans_.

He re-appears, holding a hefty first aid kit in one hand.

"paps got it," he explains briefly. "lemme see your arm."

You don't want to let him see it, but you reluctantly hold it out for inspection, anyway. You're sure he's cataloging every old scar littering your skin, too, as he washes the blood off. It stings like hell, but you refuse to so much as wince. You did it to yourself, after all. It doesn't matter.

He wraps several bandages around your wounds, sealing them tight and rolling your sweater sleeve gently down over them.

"Why are you doing this?" You blurt out. "You hate me. This is-"

"maybe i don't hate ya," Sans tells you. You freeze, your eyes wide.

"What?" You ask dumbly. Sans shrugs, putting things away in the first aid kit.

"i'm sorry i freaked out on ya," he says, dumbfounding you further. "i shouldn't have...you haven't done anything so far. i'm sorry."

"Uh, apology accepted, I guess," you say. You don't know what else to say. Except- "Can I erm- maybe stay here for a bit? Frisk's not due home for a while..."

Sans looks at you, expression unreadable for a moment, then nods.

"sure," he says. "i uh, i can do that. you like lifetime movies?"

"Hate them," you say immediately. Sans laughs.

"so do i," he says. "wanna make fun of one?"

"Sure," you tell him. He helps you to your feet, watching you attentively to make sure you don't fall over again.

For the moment, your knife sits, forgotten, on the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

Your arms haven't even fully healed before your next encounter with Sans.

He comes walking into the house like he owns it, hands stuffed in his pockets. You look up from your position on the sofa, where you'd been scrolling through your phone and looking at chonky cat pics, and scowl.

"I know Mom locked that," you tell him. All he does is laugh. "What do you want? Frisk's not here, they must have told you-"

"for you," he cuts through your words easily. You stare at him, shocked.

"Say what?" You ask. "You can't be serious. Just because we've had a  _few_ encounters where we didn't off each other doesn't mean-"

"i'm dead serious," he says, making you groan. "why wouldn't i spend time with a- a new pal?"

"We are not  _pals_ ," you state, putting disgusted emphasis on the word. "Shit, if I'd known sleeping with you would lead to  _this_..."

"now, now, dollface," Sans says, his grin somehow widening. "you and i both know we didn't do any sleeping."

"Oh, for fuck sake," you say, and bury your head in your arms. "You're ridiculous, you know that? Why are you really here?"

"i toldja," he says. "to see you. see how you're holding up. if you're doing anything."

"I'm  _fine_ ," you insist, ignoring the pulling of the scabs on your arm. "You don't have to rescue me or something. I cut myself all the time, I know what I'm doing." His pupils dim a little, hearing that.

"i still wanna check up on ya," Sans says, settling into the recliner like he owns it. "i ain't leavin'. unless ya  _want_ me to tell tori bout last time we-"

"Blackmail is a cheap tactic, asshole," you say with a groan. You don't want to see the pain on Mom's face if she finds out you've self-harmed  _again_. It was bad enough when Frisk came home and saw what their absence had pushed you to do. You told them over and over that it's not their fault, but you doubt they believe you.

"whatever works," he says casually. You flip him off.

"I'm fine," you repeat.

"you're a really bad liar, ya know that?" Sans asks. You can feel your cheeks suffuse with blood.

"So what if I'm not really fine, what then?" You challenge. For answer, you find yourself whisked away to the skeleton's trash heap of a bedroom.

"This is your answer to everything," you grumble. "I gotta wonder why that is, trashbag."

"hey, if it works, it works," he says, grinning. You flop down on his unmade bed, surprised that it still smells vaguely of laundry detergent.

"paps washed it the other day," Sans explains, noticing the look on your face.

"Well, it's nice to see  _something_ clean in this hovel," you retort, luxuriating in the feel of his sheets. Not taking the bait, Sans settles in next to you. This close, you can vaguely smell ketchup.

"you uh wanna do anything?" He asks, after a few minutes of relatively companionable silence. You shoot a look at him.

"Like what?" You ask.

"anything," he says, and there's just enough innuendo laden in the word that you don't mind struggling to your knees and straddling his hip bones. The look of surprise on his face as you settle on his pelvis is worth everything.

"Like this?" You ask innocently. His eye socket heats up with smoky blue magic, sparking a jolt of well-engrained fear and something that arrows straight down to your groin. And his, for that matter, as you can feel his cock form beneath you, hard and throbbing against the thin cloth of your shorts and his.

"you want it all off, dollface?" He whispers. You nod. He snaps his fingers and suddenly, you're naked (except for your binder). You look down at it with surprise and poorly concealed relief.

"hey, i don't understand that shit, but i know enough," he says. His voice is low and rough and thrums with newfound desire. You nod and rock against his magic-formed cock, dragging your nails down his newly exposed ribs. The sensation makes him groan and you smirk in triumph before he snaps his fingers again, leaving you floating in the air. Panic briefly seizes you before you drag in a breath. It's okay. He's not going to kill you. Mom and Frisk would kill  _him_. if Azzy didn't get him first. You're fine.

In the air, you can see his expression better. His breathing is harsh and ragged in the stillness of his room, and you can hear his phalanges squelch as they wrap around his dripping, blue cock, slowly pumping it up and down. To you. You're spread-eagled in the air above him, letting him take in the view, and from the shameful throb in your cunt, you  _like_ it.

"little freak," he groans, but it's nothing like when he spit the word at you. The caress of the insult feels like a whiplash on your sensitized nerves, followed by thin tendrils of magic spiraling across your throat and thighs, pressing against your wetness and the pulse under your jaw.

"come down," he says.

"I can't," you try to glare at him, but the effect is spoiled by his soft laughter as he lowers you inch by inch until you're resting right back in your prior position. The slippery, blunt head of his prick nudges you hopefully and you spread your legs wider, sinking down on him as he fills you to the brim.

"god, you're so fucking tight," he hisses, one hand coming up and fisting in your hair, dragging you down so his teeth are in range of your neck. Almost subconsciously, you bare your throat to him.  _Bite me,_ your mind insists.  _Fuck me up. Make me bleed._ He sucks purple-red splotches of bruise into your throat instead, and your shoulder. Anywhere he can reach as he fills you over and over, slamming into you just as hard as he did the first time. He's solicitous to a fault over your still-healing wounds, even in the grips of his lust, and it makes your throat hurt with something funny. He's not-

He's not supposed to  _care_.

Yet he came over today, just to check on you. To make sure you were okay.

 _Self-reflection later, fucking him now,_ your impending orgasm informs you, and you let all thought eddy away, feeling one of his phalanges rub up against your clit in a slow, circular motion.

"beg me," he says roughly, keeping up the same punishing pace as his hipbones snap up. As lazy as he seems to be in everything else, he's  _not_ lazy in this. "c'mon, dollface. you want it, don'tcha?"

"Trashbag," you try to sneer, trying to hold back a gasp of pleasure when he rubs your clit just the right way. "I- I won't-" You bite your bottom lip, a tiny bit of a whimper still escaping. " _Fuck_."

"won't what?" Sans asks, unbearably smug.

"You are such a dick," you hiss, glaring at him. He just grins up at you. "Fine. Uh-" Another thrust hits a spot inside you that feels very, very good, and you trail off into a long, breathy moan. "Please, Sans, you complete-"

" _really_ beg me," he says, and his voice is that low, gravelly sound that instantly makes you melt into a sopping puddle of "fuck me."

" _Please_ ," you whisper, your hips answering his as his other hand moves to your hip, digging the tips of his fingers in. You hope they leave bruises. "Please fuck me, please make me come, oh  _fuck_ -"

"good," Sans says hoarsely. His finger speeds up and suddenly, your vision whites out as you tremble and spasm around him, feeling your cunt milk him dry, feeling everything shiver down your nerves in an explosion of "holy shit this feels good."

When you come back down to earth, Sans has carefully settled you in the bed, covered by one of the washed blankets.

"i guess that's one way to keep an eye on ya," he says.

You have to clap a hand over your mouth to stifle a laugh.


	4. Chapter 4

"Thanks, Papyrus," you say, giving the tall skeleton a grateful look as he opens the front door for you. "I really appreciate it."

"It is no trouble!" He booms, striking a grand pose. "I will gladly help any friend of my brother's! Even if-" He looks down, and you know if he had a proper nose, he would be wrinkling it. "-Even if said friend is bringing junk food!"

"Remember, it's a surprise," you say, tapping the side of your nose and winking. Papyrus had to leave, anyway, and Sans wasn't due home for another hour or so.

"Of course!" Papryus says. "Mum is the word!" He claps one bony hand across his teeth and winks.

"Thanks," you say again, and watch as Papyrus leaves you, just inside the door of the home he shares with Sans. He gets into his car, waving enthusiastically. You return it for a few minutes, then retreat back into the house, greasy bag from Grillby's dangling from one hand. Now to find the trashbag's bedroom.

His room is up the stairs to the right and you find it easily, settling into his still relatively clean bed and making yourself comfortable while you wait. You eat a few fries as you scroll through Reddit on your phone, relishing the salty taste in your mouth. Sans doesn't care about the temperature, but you do. Fries are only good when they're hot.

You scrape your palm roughly over one knee, trying to dissipate some of the violent energy building up underneath your skin. It hasn't left since this morning. Some asshole called Frisk a dirty monster lover and Frisk and Asriel had to hold you back from smashing in the prick's teeth. You still managed to get in a good kick to the guy's nuts. It felt satisfying, leaving him crumpled in the parking lot.

But you still have so much  _energy_ , crackling through your muscles, itching to burst free. You hate to admit it, but you want to-

Well. You want to jump the trashbag's bones and you want him to be  _rough_.  _Violent_ , even. You know he's been holding back. Even the first time, he held back. You want him to  _hurt_ you. You want to hurt him  _back_. Fucked up? Of course it is, but you never claimed to be a saint.

The door opens downstairs and you perk, shoving your phone in your pocket and settling deeper against his pillows. Is he home early? The familiar trudge on the stairs suggests so.

When he opens the door, his eyes blow out in shock and you grin, triumph a savage zing against your nerve endings.

"Sup," you say, forcing nonchalance.

"how did ya get in here?" Sans asks, his eyes darting around, taking in each detail of you sprawled on his bed, Grillby's bag nestled next to you.

"Your brother let me in," you tell him sweetly. "He's a real  _gentleman_ , Sans. You could learn something from him."

"share," he demands, ignoring the barb.

"Mine," you inform him loftily, although you have every intention of handing it over. It's the  _principle_ of the matter. "Say please."

"please," Sans grits out, hoisting himself onto the bed next to you. You shove the bag his way and scoot to the side, watching him inhale a ketchup-slathered burger with faint distaste.

"That is  _so_ disgusting," you inform him. "They're called table manners, trashbag. Use them."

"don't see a table here," Sans says, grinning as he pulls out a handful of cooling fries. You huff out a breath, wondering if it was a good idea to come over here. Of course it wasn't, but the storm building in your middle doesn't care.

"so why ya here?" Sans asks a few minutes later, chomping down on one last stray fry. "i know i got a  _sans_ ational personality but-"

"You don't," you assure him. "You really, really don't. And uh-" You look down, picking at your cuticles. "There was a guy. This morning. He uh, called Frisk some shit." Sans stills next to you, the pinpoint lights in his eye sockets dimming. "I  _might_ have kicked him in the nuts."

"good," Sans says.

"I can't calm down," you tell him honestly. You hate being honest. Especially with  _him_. After all, you've got  _history_ and it's not all tangled up in the ketchup-scented sheets of his bed.

"so what do ya need from me?" Sans asks. He looks surprisingly...concerned? You don't know  _how_ to describe the emotion on his skull. It's weird.

"Hurt me," you whisper. 

"chara, i don't think that's-" Sans starts but you interrupt him.

"Like a BDSM thing, I don't care, not like  _killing_ me, just..." You pause, huffing out a breath. "It feels like there's wasps under my skin and I can't get them out. But if I can fight  _you_ , well... You fight dirty."

"i'm magical that way," Sans says, almost smugly. Your fist thumps against his jacket-clad shoulder.

"You are such an  _asshole_ ," you say.

"is that any way to talk to someone you're tryin' to get into bed?" He asks. You grit your teeth.

"Well, if you don't want to  _help_ ," you say, starting to get up. He grabs your wrist, all traces of humor gone from his expression.

"now dollface," he says. "i never said  _that_." Yellow and blue wisps illuminate the white of his skull, and you feel goosebumps erupt all over your skin. Your mouth stretches into what Asriel has always referred to as your creepy smile.

"Well," you breathe. "Let's go then." He wads up the Grillby's bag, tossing it against the door, before standing up. He's shorter than you, but you can't help feeling a moment of panic stab into your stomach. It's not like you have a weapon-

Not like you  _need_ a weapon, for fuck sake, Chara, this is supposed to be  _consensual_ , you can't  _dust_ your fuckbuddy-

"you good?" Sans asks, looking up at you and studying your face. You hesitate, then nod. "gimme your safe word then."

"Frisk," you say at once, enjoying the sickened look on his face. Yep, that'll kill his boner.

"i guess that works for me, too," Sans confirms. "so uh..."

"Hurt me, trashbag," you say, and in the next moment, blue swallows you whole and spits you out to slam against the wall so hard, the door shakes in its hinges. You look up, panting, to see Sans strolling towards you, hands in his pockets and one eye socket swirling yellow and blue. The other is unsettlingly empty.

"looky what i caught," he says, his voice low and guttural. "some kinda  _freak_." You internally bless just how much his magic is pressing you against the wall, as it doesn't allow you enough give to rub your thighs together or do anything else embarrassing.

"Fuck off, trashbag," you sneer at him. "That's the best you got?"

"nah," he says, refusing to get ruffled. "this is." He reaches you and yanks your shorts down, catching the band of your underwear with them. You try to kick at him, but it feels like you're moving through treacle and you can't muster more than a twitch.

"look at that," Sans says in gloating admiration. "dollface, you're  _soaked_." His phalanges slip between your thighs, prying them apart and revealing your cunt to his burning gaze. Your face floods with color as one phalange rubs briefly against your clit.

"seems like the freak  _likes_ this," Sans breathes, leaning forward and manifesting a long, blue tongue. When he uses it to swipe between your folds, you squeak, bucking weakly against the wall.

"Fuck off," you snarl at him, but he just laughs, using the sharp tips of his bones to anchor you in place. They dig into you and you can't help but wriggle against them, trying to coax blood from the surface.

"Come on, Sansy," you hiss. "If I'm such a freak, why don't you make me  _bleed_ -" His teeth sink into your inner thigh before you can finish the sentence and you trail off into a weak exhalation of breath. When he takes his mouth away, you can feel a thin trickle of blood down your skin.

"That's more like it, trashbag," you say, faux sweetness thick and syrupy in your tone. His magic dissipates, dropping you unceremoniously to the floor. You lunge at him and he neatly sidesteps you, sending you careening against the bed.

"gotta be faster than that," he says, grinning at you. You can see your own blood smeared on some of his teeth. You grimace and rush him again, your outstretched hands skating over the material of his jacket.

"nope, not fast enough," he says. Before you can try again, blue surrounds you again and he slams you into another wall so hard it leaves you breathless. Your head cracks off it and you hang limply for a few seconds, trying to get your breath back.

"you okay?" He asks, looking at you with genuine concern.

"Yeah," you say. "Sorry."

"i don't want to  _permanently_ hurtcha, no need to apologize," the skeleton tells you. "now where were we...oh yes..." His magic pulls your legs apart, farther than you could ever manage on your own, and at the same time, yanks your arms above your head. You feel a stronger loop of magic fasten your wrists against the wall.

"there we go," Sans murmurs. "on  _display_ for me. ya like that, don'tcha. i can see it in your eyes. i can _taste_ it in your needy little cunt." He gives you a long, lingering lick to prove his point and you bite back a whine. "is this what ya wanted all along?"

"No," you spit out, but you know he can see how wet and slick you are, and you know  _he_ knows every denial is a lie.

He ravages you again, eating you out with messy precision, sliding one and two fingers inside you at a time. His other hand is busy prodding and poking your exposed flesh, gouging tiny cuts into your skin and imprinting purple and green splotches of bruise to curl around your hip and peek above your waist. You can't stop a constant litany of tiny, frustrated sounds, your hands jerking at the magic keeping them imprisoned.

"you wanna cum, huh," he croons to you, his voice muffled in your pussy. You can feel the vibrations against your clit and it makes you shiver in anticipation. "yeah, i know ya do, freak, but you don't get to. you only cum around my cock, dollface."

"Fucking  _asshole_ ," you pant as he steps back from you, leaving air to cool the wetness coating your thighs. He just grins at you before you feel his magic shift around you.

"bedtime," he says cheerfully and you find yourself pressed face-first into the bed. Now you can struggle and you do, hooking your fingers back and scraping along some of his bones, but he ignores it, giving you a warning slap on your ass that you hope bruises.

"Pussy," you mutter, soon rewarded with several more slaps on your ass, each one harder than the last. They hurt like a bitch, but you like them, too, and you find yourself unconsciously relaxing, just in time for him to shuffle up behind you on the bed, spread your thighs, and cram your cunt full of his cock.

You gasp. It feels like he's purposely made it bigger, the way it's stretching out and stinging every inch of you. One of his hands knots in your hair, tugging your head back, as the other goes round your throat, lightly squeezing.

"i could kill you where you stand," Sans says roughly, punctuating each word with another unsteady thrust and surprising another whimper from you. "i could hurt ya and use ya and  _fuck_ ya til all your little freaky cunt knows is the imprint of my dick. that's what ya want, isn't it. admit it, bitch."

"Never," you gasp out against the pressure of his hand on your throat. It squeezes tighter in warning before dropping away in favor of holding onto one of your hips.

"don't lie, dollface," Sans growls, his speed increasing. His hand fumbles around the side of you, rubbing against your clit with ferocious intensity. "beg me. beg me to cum on my cock. tell me how much ya need it, or you ain't gettin' it."

"Fuck  _off_ , I-" You groan as he intensifies his attentions on your clit. " _Fuck_ , I- let me cum, you  _asshole_ , let me-"

"nicer than that, chara," he admonishes, using your name for the first time this whole session and snagging your attention.

" _Please_ ," you whine. "Please let me cum, please, I need it, I hate it but I need it, I-  _fuck_ -"

"cum for me," Sans whispers and with an extra flick, you come undone, only held upright by Sans's grip, your legs spasming as pleasure short-circuits your nerve endings. It's so intense you almost don't notice the sudden, stuttering rush of Sans's own release.

"wow," he says, carefully withdrawing. "i, uh. don't recommend ya roll over."

"Why?" You ask, just as the pain from your back and ass hits you like a freight truck. He grins sheepishly at you.

"you and the walls had a disagreement," he says. "i, uh...i'll go get the first aid kit. and uh. some other stuff. be right back." He pulls up his shorts while you gingerly scoot away from the wet side of the bed, too afraid to disobey.

"that was okay?" He asks cautiously, reappearing with his hands full.

"I would have safe worded if it wasn't," you remind him, eyeing the chocolate bar he's brought. He rolls his eyes and hands it over, watching you greedily unwrap it.

"dunno how uh...much  _fighting_ that was, but," Sans scratches the back of his head.

"Enough," you tell him. "I feel... Better. Calmer. I dunno. Thanks?"

Sans just shakes his head.


End file.
